Page 11

TEN

MARA

OCTOBER

What happened to you?

It’s one of my least favorite questions. Genetics? Bad luck? Crimes in a past life?

The attitude from the voice would have had me decking whoever said it if I had more strength. I bet a cane to the face would hurt. I’d had just enough that I had no friendliness left to give. I had to shift my whole body to look at whoever spoke.

Jack, all sweaty-looking and sexy in stupid exercise clothes again. I blinked hard and shook my head. “What are you doing here?”

He flicked his head toward the store. “Carries my favorite protein.”

“Ah.”

“Why are you,” he gestured to my cane, “like this? What happened?”

“Faulty collagen,” I snarked.

He literally scratched through that mass of dark curls with one of his tattooed hands, unaffected by my bad mood. “Huh?”

I scolded myself to attempt being nice because despite the flat tone of his voice, he looked genuinely concerned. “I have a disease that sometimes makes it hard to walk. My lower back dislocates.”

His brow creased and he looked horrified. “No shit.”

“Yes, shit,” I said, turning back to the car. I dug for my keys in my purse, but when I extracted them enough to hit the unlock button, they fell to the ground.

With all the pain shooting through my body, I couldn’t fathom how I was going to pick them up. But as I was deciding whether outright bending over or crouching would suit me better, Jack stood next to me with my keys in his hand. “Scoot.”

“What?”

He was just looking at the door handle in his hand, figuring out which button would unlock the car. “Scoot. I’ll get Hazel in her seat.”

“I can do?—”

Jack’s hand flexed on the handle, his moving knuckles making the ink on them dance. Was that a maple leaf . . . and a bird? “Mara. I don’t care. Move.”

I jumped, realizing I was just staring like his hand was the fountain of youth. Jack opened the car’s back door, still not changing his stern facial expression until he picked up Hazel. She giggled and reached for him, my trusting girl.

“Hey, you. ‘Member me?” he said to her, still much in a monotone but with the tiniest hint of excited baby voice. He smirked as he clipped her in rear-facing, dancing a finger across both sides of the seat and making her laugh harder. “She’s a cutie.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry we couldn’t make it to Harper’s birthday party last weekend.”

Jack sighed. “Neither did I. I was out of town. Syd threw that one, and well, you’ve met her . . .”

“I have,” I said. “She did not receive the cookies I brought warmly.”

“That’s Syd for ya,” Jack said. “When I asked who brought them, she said, ‘Short woman,’ and when I asked for clarification, she said, ‘Ginger.’”

I flourished a hand to my body. “Well, she’s at least accurate.” I shifted, my back screaming and needing to get home to relieve Gabi. “I should get going, but um?—”

“I’ll see you Sunday, right?”

“Oh, yeah, forgot that’s coming up. I probably have to bring Hazel, if that’s okay.”

“For sure. She’s always welcome.” I must have been leaning to stretch my back because Jack cocked his head like a dog trying to understand something. “Need me to crack it?”

“Crack what?” I asked.

“Your back. Does it help? I do this thing where I pick you up and it cracks.”

“I probably need to see a chiropractor but I’m not sure when . . .” I shook my head to clear it. “Look, Jack?—”

“I’d just,” he swept in behind me and stooped to put his arms under mine. “Here, cross your arms.”

“Jack, can you just stop trying to fix everything? I need to go and relieve Gabi, who is watching my son for free , this day has been a,” I lowered my voice, “ fucking nightmare, and all I want to do is go home and take this fucking bra off!”

“I can . . . let you go,” Jack tried, then made about ten motions with his hands. He settled on putting one on my door handle and opening it for me, holding out his hand to help me in. His dark eyes were contrite, looking genuinely sorry for inconveniencing me.

He was so close and he was kind of a dick but he was also nice in his own special Jack way and dammit, if he was going to touch me, it had better be good. I clawed my hands down my face and huffed out a breath. “Can I?” I asked, putting my hands out.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” In the most clumsy way possible, made of elbows and knees, Jack Leroy hugged me. My cane fell down as I leaned into him, and he sealed his arms tighter around me. And with a deep, shuddering breath, I hugged him back.

“Oh, fuck, are you going to cry?” He sounded truly panicked.

“I just had a bad day,” I whimpered, trying not to sound pathetic.

On a sad chuckle, he said, “I feel like I’m making it worse.”

“You’re not. You’re being nice.”

It was just a hug.

Just two lonely single parents hugging it out in a grocery store parking lot. Well, I was lonely at least. And since he’d been showing up in our lives, horny. It had been a long time since I’d had any action, and despite his “I’m not into hockey moms” statement, Jack was good to look at. And he smelled good—a little sweaty and with some manly deodorant smell but believe me when I say that it was heavenly.

How long had it been since an adult touched me? Add more time for an adult male. I pressed my ear under his collarbone like we were slow dancing, but slow dancing at a middle school dance where you don’t know how to touch each other.

“You’re tall,” I blurted.

A snort from his nose brushed my shoulder. “I’ll tell my teammates you said that. I get ‘shrimpy’ comments all the time.”

“You’re tall to me,” I said into his shirt. I drew another breath and realized I’d been clinging onto him for far too long. I cleared my throat. “I should get going.”

With two stiff pats on my back, he agreed. “Yeah. For sure.”

He knelt to get my cane off the ground, helped me into the driver’s seat, and handed me my cane. My face had to be an absolute tomato.

His face flushed to match mine, red even poking through his dark beard. “I, uh, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. Just trying to help.”

The words were on the tip of my tongue. I don’t need help. Because really, I don’t. I was making it work raising two kids by myself while I had a chronic illness to manage.

Normally, I’d insist on taking care of myself. I’d chastise him for patronizing me when I could get around perfectly well.

But the truth was, that wasn’t how I felt. I was in too much pain to mess around with hiding my feelings. I turned my knees into the driver’s seat and let him close my door. I started the car and rolled down my window as he started to walk away. “Jack.”

He turned back from where he was shoving one hand in his pocket and the other through his hair. “Yeah?”

“It felt nice.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Being held up by you. I needed that.”

“I think I did too.” He pressed his lips together, eyes scanning my door as he ran a hand through his hair. “See you Sunday?”

“Yeah.”

His little smirk made me want to bury my face in my hands. “Drive safe.”

Then he tapped my car twice like he had before, and I drove on.

“Thanks for getting him again, Gabi.” I limped my way into my apartment’s kitchen, plopping myself into a chair so Hazel could nurse. “How was your day?”

“You look like hell,” Gabi said. “And my day was fine. I only had to send two kids to the peace corner.”

Gabi and I met because she’s a teacher at the school and we worked together to plan an allergy-friendly bake sale fundraiser. She wasn’t Aspen’s teacher, but she sometimes filled in the gaps when I couldn’t pick him up.

I was lucky to have her as a friend, even if she told me when I looked like shit.

“Wow, thank you so much,” I snorted.

“No, I mean, you look like you’re in a lot of pain,” she clarified.

I lifted my shirt, unsnapped my bra cup, and Hazel did the rest. At fifteen months, she was more than capable of driving the breastfeeding car. “Yeah, well, not like I have a good doctor to get me meds. All they did was say, ‘Yep, you’ve got the disease. Go see a specialist.’ Plus I’ve got this little one still hanging on.” I gestured to Hazel.

Gabi grimaced. “You know what I’m going to say.”

“I know, I know,” I whined. “I should just smoke pot. But I can’t while she’s nursing.”

“You can get it without a doctor, and it would be relief sooner. Hazel probably wants a mother who’s not in constant pain. You got over a year. That’s good enough.”

I sighed, knowing Gabi was right, but I’d grown tired of this discussion. Gabi hadn’t been a mom and didn’t know the emotional attachment to nursing. The thought of losing this little bit of quiet time with Hazel when the rest of life was a constant race to get everything done was enough to make my eyes water. I must have been quiet for too long.

“I’m just saying, a little weed might not hurt. It might be just the thing you’re waiting for.”

I forced a smile. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“Mara, you’re running yourself ragged. Wouldn’t a little pain relief help?”

Sure, I’d have loved some pain relief, but when exactly would those doctor visits happen? I was on a months-long waitlist for a rheumatologist who specialized in my disease.

I changed the subject to avoid the overwhelm taking me under. “I ran into the dad again.”

“I have a classroom of twenty-seven students and their twenty-sevenish dads. Please be more specific.”

Hazel popped off my left breast, ready for the right. “Jack Leroy.”

“Who?” Gabi asked, then recognition crossed her face. “Ohhhh. Tattooed hockey daddy.”

“Yes, that one.”

She screwed her mouth up and deepened her voice, rounding and flexing her arms. “Big grumpy hockey daddy with a big chip on his shoulder. Ready to drop the gloves and throw a punch at the drop of a hat.”

I massaged my temple with the hand that wasn’t holding Hazel. “Is that how he is?”

Gabi quirked a brow. “You’ve dealt with him more than I have. That’s how it looks from the outside.”

I shrugged. “He’s gruff, but I think he means well. He sent me a smile emoji last week. And hearted my pictures.”

“Oooh, a steamy text exchange! Hockey Daddy’s got a crush!”

I tossed my phone her way. “Hardly steamy. Read them for yourself. Though he did invite us to his daughter’s birthday on Sunday.”

Gabi’s mouth hung open as she read the texts. “What do you mean, hardly steamy? He wouldn’t send pictures if he didn’t have at least a little crush. Ring the wedding bells! Draw up those papers!”

“Ha. Don’t think I’m going that route again anytime soon. I only just got my letter confirming the divorce last week.”

“No better time than the present. Date Hockey Daddy or I’m making you a profile on the apps.”

I blew a raspberry. “One, no you won’t, and two, I can’t even afford your free babysitting services or have time for anything but this. Where the hell would I get the energy to,” I shuddered, “meet new people.”

“You met Hockey Daddy. End of story.”

“Ha! I walked up on him saying he’s not into me to his friends. Specifically,” I imitated his growly voice, “ I’m not into hockey moms and I’m not into her. ”

Gabi looked pensive. “Hmm. What are the stages of seduction? Denial? Anger? Sadness?”

“Ma’am, I think those are the stages of grief.”